


Christmas Letters to Satan

by EeveeNicks



Category: Christian Bible, Christian Mythology - Fandom, Christian Tradition Lore & Folklore, Paradise Lost - John Milton
Genre: 2020, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Angels, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Shopping, Coffee Shops, Comedy, Fallen Angels, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Letters to Santa, Letters to Satan, Really this is just a goofy story about Santa and Satan and typos, Set in 2020 so the pandemic is mentioned, the Devil - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:49:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27890068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EeveeNicks/pseuds/EeveeNicks
Summary: Every year, there are inevitably some children who misspell "Santa" on their Christmas letters and end up writing to the Prince of Darkness himself, and in spite of everything, 2020 is no exception. Over the years, Lucifer has come to expect this and even look forward to it, creating a bit of hostility between himself and St. Nick.All of this, of course, takes place in a coffee shop that Satan owns and is witnessed by the Archangel Michael and his human friend as they're eating breakfast.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	Christmas Letters to Satan

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually a short story I wrote based on a much longer project I've been working on this year. I've been writing something based on Paradise Lost, and yes, in one part of the story Lucifer owns his own coffee shop. Parts of it are very silly. I've been writing it to keep my mind off of the disaster that has been 2020. I wrote this particular story in one sitting a couple of hours ago and someone suggested posting it on AO3 so I figured "What the hell?"
> 
> Some friends recently showed me a screenshot of a Tumblr post that was talking about how cool it would be to have a story about Satan answering all the letters he mistakenly gets from kids, and I thought "I need to write this using my versions of Lucifer and friends." I think this little story stands well enough on its own without the context of the longer novel. 
> 
> Anyway, this note is long enough for this short story. I hope you all enjoy and have very happy holidays!

It was the morning after Thanksgiving as Rebecca Bailey stepped into the local coffee shop, something she found herself doing most days now since any other in-person socializing was off the table. Twenty-twenty had been a difficult year, and the holiday season was not immune to its gathering restrictions, so she hadn’t been able to go home and visit her family this time around. Not that she had any particular issue with that. The pandemic, ubiquitous as it might have been, had not stopped her from having one of the most fun—and bizarre—Thanksgivings of her life.

As the young brunette entered the shop and hung up her coat, she waved to the man sitting at the breakfast counter. The shop itself was old and looked like it hadn’t been updated since the mid 90s. Its bright red-topped tables and aluminum chairs looked like they could have been out of a midcentury diner, and the only thing that seemed remotely modern at all—the standard for “modern” being after the show “Friends” had premiered—was the circle of couches and oversized chairs toward the back.

Bailey walked over to the counter and put her coat down on one of the stools that also looked like it could have been straight out of the 50’s. The person who was already sitting there, Michael, appeared to be a young black man in his early thirties. He had short black hair and warm brown eyes, and he always seemed to have a jovial aura that could set anyone around him at ease. Of course, Bailey knew that Michael was nowhere near as young as he appeared and that he wasn’t even a man at all.

“You’re going to have to get your own coffee this morning,” he said. “Lucy’s in the back having a meeting with someone.”

Bailey, already walking behind the counter, raised her eyebrows. “Since when does Lucy ever actually serve the coffee?”

She grabbed one of the coffee pots and a Styrofoam cup and poured herself a cup of the one flavor of coffee that the establishment offered. Then she placed a dollar fifty next to the pot and went back to her stool to take a seat.

“Good point,” Michael said, taking a sip of his own coffee and pulling two muffins out of a glass display. He gave one to Bailey and kept the other. Sometimes Michael and Bailey forgot that some of things they did would be regarded as theft in regular cafes. Not that cafes were really much of a thing anymore.

Bailey ate part of the top of her muffin and took a sip of her coffee. She grabbed a newspaper to read the headlines but then decided she didn’t feel like subjecting herself to that kind of torture and put it back.

“Who’s Lucy having a meeting with anyway?” Bailey asked. “Does this place even have any employees?”

“Nope,” Michael said as the door to the back room opened. “Speak of the devil though…”

A plump old man with white hair came out of the back looking irritated. He turned and looked at the person following him.

“I’m serious,” he huffed.

“You’re always serious,” said the second person as he stepped out into the main part of the shop. He appeared to be a slender, generally androgynous looking man with an olive complexion and long black hair that fell down to his waist. He was wearing a black suit with a red tie and looking particularly stylish that morning. The only thing that gave away that the sharp-dressed devil wasn’t human were the bright golden eyes behind his glasses. Then again, the black goat horns and barbed reptilian tail were probably also pretty good clues.

“Why do you have to be like this every year?” the old man said as they walked past the circle of couches and closer to the front of the store.

“Because, old man, I have exactly two nights a year where people are excited to see me and about three-hundred sixty-three where they curse the ground I walk on. I intend to take full advantage of every second of that!”

The old man face-palmed and shook his head as he grabbed a bright red coat off of the coat rack.

“I’m telling you for the last time, Lucifer. None of those children _intended_ to address their letters to ‘Satan.’ No one is expecting or looking forward to the literal Devil breaking into their houses the night before Christmas.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Fuck off, old man. I’m well aware of that. You’re still not getting the letters. I’m going to be the one giving out those gifts, and for one wonderful night, people will actually be happy to see me. Besides, why would you of all people deny me _my_ Christmas wish?”

The old man frowned as he put on his coat and started toward the door. “Because gifts only go to people who have been good all year long.”

“Well for your information, I have been an angel all year,” Lucifer said.

“Yeah,” Michael chimed in, watching with amusement from the counter. “A fallen one.”

Lucifer flicked his tail in annoyance. “No need to get specific.”

The old man sighed as he zipped up his coat and looked over to Michael and Bailey.

“May you two have a very merry Christmas and a happy new year! And Michael, can you please keep your sibling on a short leash so he doesn’t terrorize anyone this year when he’s committing his series of home invasions?”

Michael shrugged, trying to keep himself from laughing.

“I’ll see what I can do. Lucy’s got a mind of his own, and to be fair, all of those letters _were_ addressed to Satan.”

“Right…” The old man just shook his head again before giving Michael and Bailey a friendly smile and waving goodbye. “Well, take care between now and then. And stay safe!”

As he left, Bailey just stared at the place where he had been. She had so many questions, not the least of which was why Lucifer had bothered wearing a suit.

“Okay,” she said, looking between Michael and Lucifer. “I get the whole angels being real thing now. Took me a minute, but I can accept that. And I’m getting used to the idea that the Greek pantheon actually exists. But are you seriously trying to tell me that that was—”

“I don’t think I’ve been trying to tell you anything,” Lucifer said. “But yes, that was exactly who you think it was.”

“He and Lucifer go through this every year,” Michael said, casually taking another sip of coffee. “Sometimes kids aren’t so great at spelling and they address their Christmas letters to Satan. And Hermes being… well… Hermes being Hermes finds this hilarious and makes sure to deliver those letters to Lucy every year.”

“And then I bring joy to children all over the world,” the Devil said as he took off his suit jacket, folded it neatly, and placed it on the back of one of the oversized chairs.

“He brings gifts to a handful of children in the tri-state area.”

“And they are always delighted to see me!”

“Sometimes they’re happy to see him. Mostly they’re terrified. He gets shot by freaked out parents at least four or five times a year.”

“Because they just get so overwhelmed with joy!”

“Because he flies there on his freaky bat wings and they see a guy with goat horns and a dragon tail breaking in through their windows.”

“I see…” Bailey just nodded along, listening to the angel and the devil talk back and forth as though they were perceiving two totally different realities. She had a feeling Michael’s version of the story was more accurate though. “I’m still trying to get past the fact that Santa Claus just walked out of this coffee shop after having an argument with the Devil about mail.”

“Trust me,” Michael said. “I’ve had hundreds of thousands of years to try to understand why Lucifer does what he does, and I still don’t get it. I just smile and nod and make sure he doesn’t lose his temper and incinerate anyone.”

“Are you implying that you chaperone him on these Christmas expeditions?”

“Of course I do. How else would I know how often he gets shot at? He’s never going to admit it.”

Lucifer flicked his tail again as he went behind the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee. “The part he’s leaving out is that a lot of these letters are repeat houses. They like getting visited by Satan every year. Plus, there are a lot of goths in the tri-state area, although not as many as there were in the nineties. Some of those letters were never intended for Santa to begin with.”

“That part I actually believe,” Bailey said, returning to her muffin and breaking off the rest of its top.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” Lucifer said, picking his suit jacket back up with one hand and carrying his coffee in the other. “I have some letters to go through so I know which stores to rob. If anyone else comes looking for me today, just tell them that I’ve popped back down to Hell for a while. It’s been a long day and I’ve spent too much time around people. I’m retiring for the night.”

“Lucifer,” Michael said, “it’s eight in the morning.”

“What’s your point?” the Devil asked. “That’s basically sunset this time of year.”

With a flamboyant gesture, Lucifer waved goodbye to Michael and Bailey as he disappeared into the back of the store once more, leaving them alone at the counter.

“He does realize that his store is still open for another ten hours, right?” Bailey asked, looking over to Michael. “And that we don’t actually work here?”

Michael shrugged. “Again, I don’t try to figure out Lucifer logic. I’m pretty sure he figures no other customers are coming in today. He hasn’t had any aside from us in almost a month.”

“Pretty sure we don’t count as customers anymore,” Bailey said as she got up and stole a cheese danish from behind the counter. “Not sure if we count as burglars yet though.”

“I think you have to enter illegally to commit burglary, and we walked in through the front door. But I’m the Archangel, not an attorney.”

“If we keep stealing food from Satan’s coffee shop, does that count as a sin?”

Michael shrugged. “Hell if I know.”

He took another muffin and stood up.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I need to actually do my Archangel duties and stop Satan from robbing a Walmart and making off with all the Baby Yoda plushies.”

“Archangel duty sounds like it’s not what it used to be…”

“What can I say?” Michael said with a shrug. “This has been a weird year.” 


End file.
